Recoup
by Fortune Maiden
Summary: "Your services as a guardian are no longer necessary." [Olivier & Mueller, pre-CSIII. Based on pre-release info and headcanons so No CSIII spoilers]


_for the h/c bingo based on the prompt 'estrangement'_

* * *

 **Recoup**

 _"Your services as a guardian are no longer necessary."_

* * *

For all of the vigilance, mobility, and sleepless nights his job entailed, there were few times that Mueller could claim to be truly tired, but exhaustion is the only word that springs to mind as he fumbles with the lock to Olivier's apartment before finally getting the door open and ushering the prince inside. His muscles ache, his head is heavy, and there is a cold hollow chill throughout his body independent of the rain soaking the streets of Heimdallr outside.

He removes his boots and opens the umbrella in the hall to let it dry before stepping past Olivier to the latter's bedroom to fetch him a towel and a dry change of clothes. He's a bodyguard not an attendant, so this has never been one of his duties, but looking after Olivier is second nature at this point so he doesn't think much of it. More importantly though, it's a distraction.

When he returns to the front room, Olivier has loosened his cravat and his ponytail, and sits at the round table by the window watching the raindrops pool and trickle down the glass. His sour expression remains unchanged from when they'd left Valflame Palace, when he'd stopped to take a long shaky breath and assure Mueller that he was fine and just needed to be anywhere else. He hadn't said anything since and remains silent as Mueller drops the dry items on the table in front him and wordlessly signals for him to get dressed. He doesn't say anything because he's not yet ready for a response and leaves the room once again.

Mueller's military jacket absorbed most of the rain so it's enough for him to shed it, hang it over the bathtub and run a towel through his hair before he feels comfortably dry enough to avoid catching cold. The other chill is still there though, so after peering in on Olivier to make sure he hasn't decided to punish himself by staying in his wet clothes, Mueller's next stop is the kitchen to brew a pot of tea. It's what they need right now, he thinks as he finds himself wistfully wishing Olivier would come in with an impish grin and a lewd comment about Mueller being the perfect housewife or some similar bullshit. But the rain's patter against the windows and the water boiling over the stove is the only reprieve from silence he gets.

He takes a couple of older teacups from the cupboard and returns to Olivier to serve the tea. The wet regal red clothes are tossed on the floor beside him, but while Mueller would normally make some sort of comment about this, he finds he doesn't really care and thinks red has never really suited Olivier that well anyway. He sets down the teacups and then sinks into the opposite chair, muscles unwinding in relief, and waits. The deep frown on Olivier's face is one Mueller has seen only a few times in his life, but he knows what it means. Olivier has never been prone to tantrums, but in times like these when the world they knew seemed to crumbled around them, he could snap and things would get broken and Mueller just has to make sure those things didn't include Olivier himself. He'd once broken his wrist during one of these fits.

But the tantrum never comes as Mueller watches Olivier's trembling hand ball into a fist and his frown contort into rage and outrage and everything in between before he finally slumps further in his chair, his fingers limp over the table's edge, and his expression that of a man aged 10 years overnight.

"I am so sorry," he finally says.

"I know," Mueller replies quietly.

"He has no _right_ to do this." Olivier's voice is quivering.

"I know."

Mueller presses his palms to the teacup, his hands too big to comfortably wrap his fingers around it. He watches the steam rise out of the cup, but finds himself lacking any inclination to drink the hastily made tea. It's just there for warmth. Olivier doesn't touch his cup either.

"I was naïve," Olivier says through gritted teeth and his hand balls into a fist once more. "So, so naïve."

"We all were," Mueller mutters in agreement. They were too reckless. They had been so confident in Olivier's title and the power it held that they had seriously overlooked the possibility that Osborne would go after them in ways that didn't involve outright assassination. There had always been this…understanding of sorts, that wherever the Chancellor's true loyalties lay, he was still somewhat reverential to the Emperor, enough to take care that whatever plots and conspiracies slithered their way throughout the empire didn't (openly) adversely affect the Imperial family's lifestyle.

Which made his proclamation that the Vander family was to be stripped of its historic duty all of the more shocking because there was no way he would have been allowed to do that without the Emperor's blessing. In the end, it wasn't Osborne estranging the Vander family. It was the Emperor's own will that his longtime friends and allies be ousted from their post.

 _"Your services as a guardian are no longer necessary."_

The cruel mocking words had seemed to pierce right through Mueller's chest, knocking the air out of his lungs faster than any physical blow could and he was grateful that Olivier had immediately launched into a defensive tirade on his behalf, because Mueller hadn't been able to muster any of the words to do it himself.

He still remembers that day so many years earlier, when his father took him to the countryside and introduced him to the golden-haired boy he was to dedicate his life to. Protect and serve the Imperial family: that was the creed of the Vanders and though Mueller's first impression of the commoner-raised unaware prince had not been the finest, meeting him had been one of the proudest moments of his life. His existence held a purpose now, he was fulfilling his ancestral duty, and despite all of the grief and stomach pain Olivier would visit on him in the ensuing years, there was never a moment where Mueller considered a life separate from him. He was always quick to tell people that guarding the prince was a duty not a choice, but given the choice, he's sure he would make it his duty all over again. He isn't free now. He's just empty.

"Thanks for standing up for us though," Mueller says because he'd been so focused on getting out of the suffocating halls of Valflame Palace before that he hadn't said it yet.

"You should hold your thanks for someone who actually does something meaningful."

"It was meaningful to me," Mueller says calmly. "And you made sure to scope out that our duty was the only thing Osborne planned to take away. That's something." It's some comfort to know that they still have their ancestral lands, their titles, and their school, which is more than some of the other targeted noble families can boast. Only the Vanders' purpose is unwelcome in Osborne's new era it seems.

Olivier sighs and a small rueful smile shows on his face. "In that case, think nothing of it," he says. "Though I don't think I'll be welcome in the palace for a while after today's little outburst."

"You will need to choose your words more carefully going forward," Mueller agrees, though as the knot in his stomach begins to unwind, he finds he can looks back and smirk at some of the choice words Olivier had for his enemy. But the smirk immediately fades. "Is it really getting that bad?"

"As of now, only Alfin will still freely meet with me. Priscilla too, most likely, though she's quiet and cautious. Understandable; I don't blame her at all. But Father is suddenly far too busy to make time, and Cedric doesn't even look at me anymore," Olivier explains in the casual uncaring tone he uses whenever he wants to switch topics immediately.

Mueller obliges.

"So what now?" he asks. "Do you have any plans?" That is the real question as far is Mueller is concerned, because as long as Olivier still has a plan, he's sure someday, somehow, things will be right again.

"Perhaps," Olivier replies. "Osborne may have captured my queen and my pawns may be scattered, but I still have many other pieces to play, and in time a pawn will reach the end of the board and resurrect you to my side."

"A simple "yes" would have sufficed."

"One must know the language of the enemy in order to understand him," Olivier muses, the confident flair returning to his voice, though his smile remains rueful. "His pompous Excellency hasn't rescinded my request for the branch campus yet, so I suppose I can only redouble my efforts there and get it running before he changes his mind. More importantly, what will you do now?"

"I'll return to the army. I am still an officer in the 7th Division." In a kinder, more romantic world, Mueller would quit the service and promise to stay by Olivier's side and protect him in his own capacity, not as the young lion of the Vanders, but this is exactly the sort of subversive defiance they don't need right now. Olivier nods in approval.

"I'll keep an eye on things then. Make sure he doesn't start deploying you to the really dangerous posts."

"He wouldn't do that," Mueller remarks, though the thought has crossed his mind as well. "But I'm not expected back right away so I suppose I'll stop at home first," he adds. "I should consult with Father as well." Or bow his head in shameful deference because when it comes time to analyze why Osborne suddenly targeted them, it'll be his inability to reign in the prince's more outrageous schemes that will serve as the sticking point.

"Yes," Olivier agrees, as if reading his true intentions. "Perhaps I will accompany you then. Someone needs to formally apologize to your family for this grave insult."

"You don't—

"I do." Olivier cuts him off sharply, but then in a more tired voice adds, "And I think it best I leave Heimdallr for some time. I'm already unwelcome in the palace; I should find some place to cool my head before I'm exiled from the city as well." Mueller won't be there to keep it cool for him anymore, after all.

"Alright. You know you're always welcome with us."

"I know, and I'm grateful. And perhaps you should like to serve as my escort one last time?" Olivier asks, already knowing the reply. "For old times' sake?" He stretches out his hand, which Mueller accepts.

"Don't screw up again, and it won't have to be for old times' sake," he says. Then after a moment of consideration adds, "And if halfway through the trip you have a sudden epiphany and decide to run off, you're on your own."

* * *

 **A/N** : Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it!

The reveal that the Vanders were dismissed from their post was the first bit of CSIII info that made me really go ! about the game and I was really wondering about Osborne's reasons for this and how Olivier/Mueller would react. I really want to know what those reasons are but I think it is probably in part to isolate Olivier from his allies.

Also despite the setting of this fic being CS-based, I used Olivier over Olivert because I suspect Olivier is his birth name from before he knew he was a prince and Mueller always seems to use it in 3rd where Olivier isn't actually in disguise (even the text boxes call him Olivert haha). Who knows but I kinda like the idea of him preferring to be called Olivier in private so I'll probably stick with it until canon proves me otherwise!


End file.
